The bright day gave the treeline a solid shape of green and white against the blue of the sky. Birds sang their song, but Hrun couldn’t help but to feel uneasy without the constant buzzing that had been home. Had he been wise to follow his brother? He’d always thought so highly of him, but it felt like now they were just… meandering. Hrun had come to realize he hadn’t really liked meandering. Now, though, he was stuck. Going home didn’t feel like a solution, and deep in the pit of his stomach, if he gave it more than a second’s thought, a small, but growing, anger bubbled.
Hrun distracted himself with other things. It was good that the two had a little time apart. The dark wolf turned away from the pawsteps that would lead him to his brother and instead picked another direction — not one they had come from, but someplace new. He could explore on his own, couldn’t he?
Even a few steps away, he felt uneasy. Imaginary strings pulled him in his brother’s direction.
Hrun pushed on, firmly planting his paws into the snow. He concentrated on their cold, on how they hurt if he thought too deeply about it. He did not need the buzzing of his home, if only because his mind was now constantly buzzing. He continued to walk, each step slow and careful as he firmly pushed his paws into the snow. Hrun considered each step, each print he made was deliberate, the shape they left behind perfect. This did not quell the mind-buzzing, but it dulled the noise. One step after the other, until Hrun found himself in front of a perfectly large pile of snow, freshly fallen from a tree.
He plunged his whole head into it, the cold becoming the single thought on his mind.